


where the skin begins

by Raorica



Series: a thousand worlds, a thousand lives [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulflower AU, Supernatural Elements, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, heavily oc centric, slow discovering and rediscovering of humanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26593714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raorica/pseuds/Raorica
Summary: “Not quite human,” Nao answers his unasked question. She inhales before gambling on honesty. “But not an android either.”Thrust into a world where there are androids too unsettingly human and humans marked with blooming flowers on their skin, Nao is trying her best to stay afloat of bills, sketchy benefactors, and unending hunger. In this daily struggle, it's almost too easy to let her past slip from mind. Unfortunately, when her situation is upturned yet again, she is forced to face matters she'd hope would be forever buried.
Relationships: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) & Original Female Character(s), Connor/Original Female Character(s), Kara & Original Female Characters, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: a thousand worlds, a thousand lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934551
Kudos: 3





	where the skin begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credits to northwrought for the soul-flower ideas, I read their little drabble on tumblr and the concept gripped me by the THROAT.

“You and Death are entwined together, so tightly bound it’s difficult to discern where one ends and the other begins.”

Well.

That sounds... _great_.

Instead of commenting on how she had _no idea_ how true her comment was, or whether the melodramatic phrasing was really necessary, Nao stares in awe at the knowing dark eyes gazing back from behind a gauzy veil.

“How did you say that with capital letters?”

Reina only smiles as she spreads her arms, raising open palms to the air. The movement shifts her sleeve further down, exposing her wrist and the vibrant petals that stain it. It had taken her a few weeks to identify the large blossoms as _hollyhocks,_ and she finds them fitting. “It is a gift the stars have bestowed upon me, one I am called to use on the people’s behests. It can be a heavy burden at times, but one I am unafraid to bear so that the people may be guided to their true destiny.”

Nao eyes the way large jewels twinkle along the many adornments encircling the psychic’s limbs. They gleam in the purposefully dim light the scented candles lining the room offers. “Uh huh, is that the only thing that’s weighing you down?”

A series of yelps escapes her, once for the swift kick to her shin, and another for banging her knee against the table when she jerks from the sharp pain. 

“You violent _quack_!”

“Is that how you speak to your employer?” The fortune teller sniffs, a painted finger brushing away a non existent tear as she looks to the ceiling in mock despair. “And here I am, _graciously_ reading your destiny out of the goodness of my heart! Oh the stars have surely granted me a cruel fate.”

Nao snorts.

“The stars screwed _both_ of us over then. Never expected to land in an entirely different world and work for a scammer.”

“You speak as if what _you_ do doesn’t sound like a scam?” 

Nao makes an indignant sound, because that _totally_ didn’t count since one, they have both witnessed firsthand the legitimacy of her work. After all, it’s why someone like her was picked up and taken in so easily. Secondly, even though she knew for a fact that the supernatural exists(case in point: her original world and herself), divination is, and always would be, an outright _scam_ in her eyes. Especially in _this_ world where technology flourished in the absence of magic. Well, Nao corrects herself as she thinks of multicolored blossoms, it couldn’t be _entirely_ devoid of magic, not when the people here are apparently born with encircled blooming representations of themself on their skin. 

Either way, what kind of a shop name was _Constellation Consultation_?

The bead curtain swish and rattles as someone pushes it aside. “Another patron has arrived.”

“Another _target_ has arrived.” Leaning back into her chair, Nao flops her head backwards, looking at the now upside down arrival with a lopsided smile. “Also, hello, Theia. Please tell our boss how what I do is _completely_ different from whatever sketchy business she’s running. Tarot reader my _ass_.”

No one can be that wealthy while entertaining what little customers that did pass by. Especially when she didn’t even charge half of the customers that _did_ pass by for guidance. 

This is most definitely a sketchy place, Nao thinks, but unfortunately, it was the sketchy place that took her in when she had fallen into this strange world with nothing but the clothes on her back and a heart filled with grief. And so, she would keep silent on the suspicious dealings that instinct tells her runs much too deep for her to even think of touching, especially not when Reina is her sole benefactor here. Well, mostly silent, at least.

Theia only smiles back at her, the edges of her dark eyes crinkling, already all too used to her antics in the short month or so that she’d landed here. Pity. And here she thought she could maybe lighten up the mood here. Now she has to watch the two tiptoe around each other, stuck in the middle of careful words, sullen silences, and the absolute refusal to acknowledge the entire issue that had been simmering recently. The entire thing suffocated her sometimes.

“By the way,” Reina calls out, catching Nao’s attention with her sly smile. Nao’s eyes instantly narrow in suspicion. “There will be a charity auction next Friday. 6pm, the Westin Hotel.”

A long groan fills the room. Her hunch is spot on then. Nothing good ever happens whenever Reina smiles like that. 

“We’re gonna attend that, aren't we?”

Reina’s smile grows. “I knew there was a reason I picked you up.”

Nao waves her off. “Isn’t your customer waiting?”

“Actually,” Theia looks at Nao apologetically,“they are asking for _you_.”

Her previous smile slips for just a moment, before it returns with twice the brightness. Damn. As much as she dislikes the entire experience, she needs the unsteady flow of customers just as much as they needed her. If only it did not leave her an unpleasant side effect as it did, but beggars can’t be choosers. She thanks Theia, scrunching her face at Reina who smirks victoriously at her before parting the bead curtain with an arm as she enters the main waiting area of the shop. 

The purposeful dim lighting is continued here as well, except this time, it’s with antique lamps that dot the small room. With even more antique furniture and random crystals lining the walls, the waiting patron is almost lost among the background. Despite the soft swishing of the bead curtain, Nao’s arrival goes unnoticed. She takes this time to examine them, noting the curve of their shoulders, the dark circles around jittery eyes as they nervously tug on their hair. Bright marigolds dot alongside prominent collarbones, half hidden in the baggy sweater. The desperation and grief that lines the woman’s drawn face is one Nao has long since familiarised herself with. At least in this case, she can ease the burden for her.

When Nao is a few steps away, enough of a distance to seem non threatening, she makes sure her voice is gentle and soft. “Hello, how may I help you?”

She does not comment on their full bodied flinch as they turn to her. 

Here, she knows her… unusual appearance only furthers the mystical and supernatural setting, shown when the nervous woman glances at her rather mundane clothing, then to her left arm, before being instantly drawn to her face. Or rather, her eyes.

It’s the same old song and dance, people would be startled by her unnaturally orange eyes, blinking when her pupils contract and dilate according to the shifting light when they realize that _oh,_ it’s not contacts that make her gaze eerily bright. At least in this low light setting, her pupils are dilated, more rounded instead of the usual slitted form. _That_ would be an even more unsettling sight.

When they inevitably look away or down in an attempt to not stare at her face, they are again met with the sight of her prosthetic arm, which creates even more awkwardness. At least her hair is dyed a normal black, not that her natural hair color would be very distinguishable in this dark room.

How tiring, she thinks as her skin prickles under the gaze. However, the achingly familiar expression keeps the cutting words behind her teeth, in favor of a small smile. Perhaps things might speed up in a more private space.

“If you’re comfortable with it, would you like to talk somewhere more private?”

The woman jolts as she glances back at Nao, an ashamed expression overtaking them as they nod. Whether or not it is for their blatant uncomfortableness with Nao’s appearance, or for being in the shop in the first place, Nao remains patient. It’s not like their reaction to her is not understandable. As for the second possibility, there is honestly no judgement towards any patrons that call for her service in particular. After all, only the truly desperate have ever asked for her help.

“Here.” Nao beckons her along to the consultation room especially set aside for her, all open palms and a kind expression. “Things will be easier for you after today.”

.

.

.

Theia quietly places a steaming mug of tea in front of Nao, her eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The gentle concern, combined with the herbal tea, it’s all so hauntingly familiar to her, and her chest tightens at the realization. What kind of flower would mark _her_ skin? She swallows, looking away. Stay present, Nao.

It takes her a long minute to compose herself, as she focuses on the floral notes of lavender wafting from the tea. Despite knowing that there is now a safe layer of fabric between her skin and the outside world, she still can’t help herself from tugging on the thin cotton gloves, just in case. “I’ll be fine, but thank you for asking. Just...a rough one this time.”

Not that it was ever a pleasant experience. No one ever went to her for pleasant business. The evidence is carved into her own collarbones, and though she knows it will soon fade, for now, the marigolds are a visible reminder of the things she’s experienced.

Theia tucks an errant brown curl behind her ear as she hesitates. “Do you want to talk about it?”

As always, she shakes her head. Sure, talking about them would help relieve the feeling of filth on her skin, would help ground her amidst the swirling memories that threaten to sweep her off her feet. However, she swore not to reveal anything her clients chose to share with her. It’s only right to respect their privacy, even if they would never remember it after the session.

She takes a sip of the still steaming tea, letting the near scalding liquid sit on her tongue before swallowing. It will be fine. Absorb and move on. Her name is Nao, and she is 26 years old. Currently, she resides in Detroit, Michigan, an entire world away from her original home, which...is another problem, but she’ll get back to it later. The person that caused her client so much pain is not here, and if she had any say in it, they would never return to hurt them again.

Theia still looks unconvinced. “I think you should take the rest of the day off. I’ll take care of Reina.”

Nao starts to protest, it’s not the worst she’s experienced, she will be _fine_. And then she notices her hand tugging on her hair, the gesture now too familiar. As if burned, she lets go of it in favor of fiddling with the clasps and harnesses on her prosthesis. 

She picks at one of the straps, noting how it was fraying just a tad bit too much for her liking, while another loose clasp flopped around uselessly. It should still work well enough for her daily needs, but she wouldn’t really trust it to carry her weight for any of her more physical activities. She should replace them as soon as possible.

“...Ok.” Maybe she does need a little more time to collect herself. In the meantime, she could collect materials to fix and maybe create new designs to upgrade her prosthesis. All those years spent scribbling stupidly tiny runes had to have counted for _something_. The only problem is… 

Theia notices her awkward expression, tilting her head in question. “Is there else something you need?”

She smiles sheepishly, and raises her left arm. “Do you know any shops with stuff I could use to fix this?”

* * *

Nao pulls at the fabrics, listening to the snaps as she carefully examines each strap. This black one seems sturdy enough, but another rub between her fingers confirms the excessively rough texture. She isn’t exactly looking forward to the nasty scrapes that are sure to come from long term usage. But all the other options were either too weak or, as Nao glances at some of the price tags and blanches, way out of her budget.

She leaves the fabric shop with enough of the scratchy black straps to repair her harness. Unfortunately, the shop didn’t carry any clips she could use, so she resigns herself to either hammer the clip back into place, or tape the whole thing together. She really should ask for a raise, damn the fact that she’d only recently started working for Reina.

She blinks at the sunshine that warms her face against the cool breeze.

Detroit, she grudgingly thinks, can be pretty sometimes. Excluding the run down houses and broken buildings in the poverty stricken districts, of course. So maybe the wealth divide isn’t any better than the one back in her world, but she still relishes in the crunch of the fallen leaves as she walks through the plaza. Idly, she notes the way the orange color mirrors her eyes, which are thankfully hidden behind dark sunglasses.

“Why do you look at me so, demon?”

She automatically stills, face neutral as she subconsciously tries to not give away any potential weakness, to draw as little attention as possible. Heart racing as the familiar prayer for things to pass quickly, she quickly glances to the source, instinctive apologies pressing against her teeth. It’s a man, pointing at another as he spits out how the other would bring destruction to Detroit. She breathes. It’s not her then.

Should she interfere? It really has nothing to do with her, and honestly, she should probably stay as low profile as possible. After all, she never knows when someone might take too close a look at the forged identifications Reina had created for her. Unconsciously, a hand reaches up to lightly tug on the tips of her dyed hair. But, she thinks, it never feels nice to have such condemnation thrown at yourself. 

Her hesitation lasts just a touch too long, and by the time she looks up again, the man has already walked off, heading deeper into the store while the preacher continues his little doomsday speech.

...Being a bystander sucks. 

Time to go home, she thinks. Her short visit to the fabric shop bore little fruit anyways, what with there being a distinct lack of any straps or clips suitable for what she needs to maintain her prosthesis. God, her old world may be shit, but it was at least shit she was familiar with. At least back then, she knew how to navigate through everything and had the means to survive. Here? She needs to be cautious of her every word, fearful that people might find out about her origins.

As she walks to the bus stop, a group of protesters catches her attention, and she makes sure to keep her head down as she steers clear of them. Androids are considered job stealers here, huh? Once she is able to lean against the bus stop, she keeps a wary eye on the group. She knows all too well the dangers of mob mentality, of the things people can do when another group is perceived to be the root of their problems. Of what it means to be the scapegoat. 

Her eyes catch on the man from before, the one who had been accosted while she had stood by. Guiltily, she tries to glance away, but before she can, someone in the crowd also notices him, and her heart sinks to her gut as they strides up and call to him.

Like before, she is stockstill, watching the events unfold before her eyes. The place is filled with people who stare at the scene just like her; some ignore it, while others hold the glint of satisfied vengeance in their eyes. No one speaks out, at least, not openly. 

The instigator shoves the man to the ground, kicking him when he tries to get up. Her heart pounds in her eyes as she watches numbly. Where were the cops? Is this a common sight in this world? Is everyone really going to stand by and watch this?

...Is _she_ going to watch this?

Nao takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes. Checks to make sure her gloves are secure around her hands.

The instigator reaches to grab the man. Stops. The attention shifts from the hand gripping his wrist and onto the newcomer, who looks steadily back at him. 

Onto her.

“And who the fuck are _you_? You care more about machines than actual people?”

Well, she’s never had any terrible experiences with androids so… 

However, she does not think that would go over well, so Nao remains silent, her only response being the tightening of her lips and grip. Ok, now what? As much as she wishes she could say that her hands were as steady as her gaze, she is betrayed by the fine tremors running through the cords of muscle. After the session with the customer earlier, she really, _truly_ wants to avoid as much skin contact as possible for the day. 

Distantly, she analyzes him, noting the sturdy build and small tattoos that dot his face and neck. Despite his intimidating appearance, there are small yellow flowers clustered on the other side of his neck, the delicate flowerets just barely extending beyond the dark ring that encircles them. _Tansy,_ she recognizes, absently dubbing him Tats as she goes through her options. The protestors surrounding her and the man still on the ground would be a pain in the ass to deal with. If this situation escalates, skin contact would be unavoidable, so she tries to deescalate the only way she has ever learned how.

Remain quiet. Keep herself as small as possible, with no possible weakness or fault to find in her posture. Be still. Despite not being in fault, it is a struggle to hold back the instinctive apology, so she bites her tongue instead.

Unfortunately, Tats notices the distinctly inorganic feel of her prosthetic grip, and his nose flares. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

His scanning glance over her clothes and face reveals none of the usual markings. No LED, no neon blue armband or triangle on her clothing. Nao feels the man— _android_ , she now realizes— rise to stand behind her, and with growing apprehension, she watches as Tat’s face begins to twist, and in a split second decision, she prepares to pull her glove off.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Oh, so _now_ the cops decide to come to the rescue. She averts her eyes, suddenly glad for the sunglasses that hide the distinctive color, and despite being right in the middle of things, her exit is largely unnoticed as she quickly brushes her bare hand against a few select people. She still very much wants to stay low for as long as possible, and an encounter with _law enforcement_ of all people is perhaps not very conducive to that.

However, when Nao heads back towards the bus stop, her footsteps pauses just a few feet away. She tugs her gloves back in place, a finger tapping against her prosthetic arm before decisively turning away from the bus stop. Adrenaline still pumps through her veins, and she needs a way to relieve it.

She glances at the brick walls leading up to the rooftops. This area is too crowded with people, but there were more deserted areas. Surely, one of them would be suitable enough for her purposes. In the meantime, she can just jog on the sidewalk like people normally would. That wouldn’t be a bad idea, right?

* * *

Thankfully, the return to her apartment is mostly uneventful. What is it with today and her much too frequent encounters with strange men and their propensity for violence?

She slides the key in, unlocking the door. However, the door doesn’t budge, as if jammed. Or, she thinks with a roll of her eyes, it’s due to the whole reason she was able to rent an apartment at such a low price.

“Let me in you ghosty asshole.”

When there is no response, she resorts to slamming her hip into the door, forcibly shoving it open. She really should cleanse the place of the spirit, having to deal with random banging and things being thrown about is starting to grate on her nerves. However, the damn thing hasn’t shown itself to her since the day she managed to secure the place, preferring to cause chaos whenever she wasn’t looking. Perhaps it could somehow sense exactly what she was and knows that staying out of her reach would be the best for the sake of its continued existence.

“I’m back,” she says out of habit. The only response from the resident poltergeist is the door slamming back shut behind her. Typical. She had tried to be polite and accommodating in the beginning, but they refused to talk to her, no matter how much she coaxed for a proper conversation in order to set some kind of an agreement in place.

Not that it would stop her from babbling about her day. Who knows, maybe she could annoy the spirit out of hiding.

.

.

.

“I bet that asshole must feel real stupid after yanking around my arm like that.” Nao squints at the needle in hand as she pushes the thread through the eye. The thread, stained with her blood, predictably bends and slips to the side instead of going through. It would probably help if the lights weren’t constantly flickering above her. In a mocking accent, she continues. “ _You’re one of them, aren’t you?_ Like sir, you’re lucky my arm didn’t fall out!”

She gives a victorious cry as she finally manages to thread the needle, and goes back to replacing the straps for her harness. “So anyways, also met this other weirdo and almost got my ass shanked by some rusty knife, like bro chill, I’m just here to pick up my arm, ok?”

The lights continue to flicker throughout her recount of the day’s events.

“Cut that out, you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

Nao finally finishes the last stitch, tying it off before snapping the thread off with her teeth. Fiddling with the straps and adjusters for a more proper fit, she tosses the now uselessly broken clip aside in favor for tape. Buying another clip would be a task for the future. She takes a moment to admire her work. Not so bad, considering the fact that she wasn’t a prosthetist. It took longer than expected for her to replace the straps, so she’ll have to forgo the new designs for now and head to bed.

When she brushes off the bits of stray threads from the prosthesis, she hesitates, before fiddling with it until a compartment clicks open, revealing a bone white knife hidden inside. She takes a moment to run a finger along the minuscule grooves along the handle. To the untrained eye, it looks like nothing more than the nicks and scratches accumulated through the passage of time, the edges worn smooth by desperate hands. As she scrapes her nail against the etched surface, it strikes her that she’s now the only one in the world who would know what the runes mean, who can read the potential hidden in each carved stroke. 

When she pulls it free in one smooth motion, the handle sits familiarly in her palm, as if it was made to fit every curve of her fingers. Or maybe she was made to fit it. The quiet night shivers as she flicks it through the air, watching the gleaming blade spin, like liquid moonlight spilling and molding itself into something sharper, more solid. More than seeing, because it still refuses to show itself, she feels the spirit hold their breath when she indulges in allowing a flicker of bright blue flare along the edge.

( _The next few moments play out in her mind. She could close her eyes, let her other senses fall back in favor of drawing out a map of constellations, each star a person’s soul, bright and so very warm. Instead of marvelling at the lovely expanse that stretches out before her, she focuses on the narrow space of her room, easily spotting the muted spirit that while dimmed by death, is still a spot of candlelight in the dark. Eyes still closed, she raises the burning knife, and with years and years worth of practised ease, she would slink over and gently sink the blade into the spirit._

_Maybe they would instantly burn to ashes, or perhaps, she might consider not wasting a free meal, and instead peel her gloves off to cradle them to her lips, in a mockery of a tender kiss. Just like she’s done with the False King, with her best friend, she would sup on their very life. If it still is not enough to sate her hunger— and it never is, as the hunger is a constant presence that sits pressed against her ribcage— she might then turn her gaze over to the rest of the stars._

_After all, the living have always burned brighter than the dead._

_Which is the greater mercy: to be burned into nothingness, or to be devoured whole?_ )

However, just like all the other times, she stays her hand. There is no one to bring her back if she ever goes too far. No one crooning songs to guide her back home.

She lowers the knife.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that annoyed.”

In this strange and unfamiliar world, she finds herself clinging to anything that reminds her that she hasn’t gone insane, hasn’t just hallucinated her past. The people here are born with flowers, a visual representation of their souls forever marked on their skin. How comforting it is that her skin remains bare of any blooms. At least, none that she can call her own, none that has not been temporarily stolen. 

Her hand curls around the handle as she brings the knife with her to bed. It’s comforting, at least, to have a physical reminder of who she is, where she came from, and what she’s lost.

When she closes her eyes and slips into sleep, her dreams are filled with bright laughter and dust between her fingers. She will wake up blinking away tears, but for now, she rests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hollyhock: Ambition.  
> Marigolds: Quite a lot of meanings, including pain, despair, and grief.  
> Tansy: A declaration of war.
> 
> The pasta friend says I should mention that Connor will not appear until ch3 if I do not want readers to come at me with pitchforks and torches.


End file.
